The Miniature Orchestra of Gnomes
by Spot and Punk
Summary: The final chapter of this unexpected kid-fic. New Year's Eve and House and Sam face some major life changes, tune in to find out...
1. Chapter 1

_Hi there! Long time no see! Who knew? The muse has awoken... This is the first of a planned series and completely out of character for me. Maybe I've been inspired buy the ten year anniversary or taken over by an alien mind. Who am I to question this big change of direction?!_

HHHHHHHHHHHHHH

House was running behind schedule. He limped as fast as he was able, every step accompanied by an inappropriate curse under his breath. Glancing at his watch, he slowed for a second to pull his jacket more tightly across his chest. A cold snap had hit hard and suddenly, the kind of weather that meant you never warmed up; no matter how fast you limped.

Neatly avoiding an icy puddle of slush, he progressed through the full parking lot, dodging high-end mini-vans, people carriers, 4x4s and the occasional telltale 2-seater belonging to the divorced. Though he maintained a litany of imaginative curse words he neared his destination nonetheless, almost despite himself. The first flurry of snow began to drift down fluttering every which way and he cursed again, more audibly this time, lamenting the distance he'd had to park away. The news had forecast a ton of snow during the night.

He squeezed through the gate and searched in vain for an open door. He hadn't been here all that often if truth be told. The occasional visit aside, his schedule rarely allowed for impromptu visits; nor did his general hatred for hockey moms.

Soon enough the telltale glow of fluorescent light drew his eye and he picked up his pace hell-bent on reaching the door. He grabbed for the handle, pulled it toward himself and stepped up into the reception area hallway.

He could just about hear the first god-awful hoots of some poor kid violating a trumpet pouring out from the theatre. He followed the sound, wincing at the insult to his pitch perfect ear. Closer and closer with every step, he detected just a tiny bit of pride building; Sam was good; much better than trumpet kid.

Pausing for a second to balance his cane, his jacket and the programme thrust into his hand by a well-meaning woman at the door, House took a mental deep breath and pushed the door handle as slowly and as quietly as he could.

Several people turned in his direction, glaring in anticipation of someone daring to interrupt a star turn. House ignored them, set his chin against the stifled murmur of sympathetic realization upon sight of his cane, and limped into the nearest available seat.

There they all were. Lined up along the stage like a miniature orchestra of gnomes, the violin players, the woodwind section, the myriad recorders, and there, patiently waiting at the back were the percussionists. House watched as Sam made no attempt to stifle a yawn and continued to gaze off into the distance. It had been a tough semester, for them both.

A round of enthusiastic applause sounded at the end of a slow, out-paced rendition of Jingle Bells and House knew what was coming next.

The conductor turned triumphantly to the audience, announced the final song of the night and thanked everyone for making this a performance to remember.

The first few bars rang out, and slowly recognition amongst the audience spread like a bad case of Chinese whispers. The choir settled into some kind of agreement regarding the pitch and soon enough those immortal words rang out across the auditorium: 'On the first day of Christmas…' House knew he had cut it fine, but a big part of him wished he'd cut it a bit finer still; eleven days of Christmas still to come.

Sam flinched suddenly on the stage, awoken from his daydream on hearing those immortal words. Ready for his big moment, he stood a little bit straighter and peered around the auditorium.

The seventh day of Christmas came and went, then the ninth, and suddenly House was surprised to hear the eleven pipers piping and the tension in the pit of his belly rose. Here it was, the big moment, the weeks of practice, the solemn concentration, all leading up to this point.

'Five gold rings!' sang the audience, but House couldn't take his eyes off the stage.

'Four calling birds, three French hens…' and Sam took up his instrument.

'Two turtle doves, and a-' House could hardly bear it much longer.

'Partridge in a pear tree…'

And with that, Sam rose to the occasion striking the triangle at the exactly the right moment.

'Ting'.

Beautiful, resonant, perfect. House felt the tiniest prickle of a tear threaten the corner of his eye. Sam beamed out his 60-watt smile suddenly spotting House all the way at the back of the theatre. House smiled back, lost in that face, those big dopey eyes.

Sam, his perfect boy, his beautiful son.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

'The Brave Light of Dawn'

The lights in the apartment were low, curtains drawn tightly across the cold night outside. A fire burned gently in the grate, crackling and spitting every so often sending much needed heat out into the living room. House, sequestered in the corner at his desk, tapped at the keyboard, lost in concentration and keeping only the tiniest ear out for Sam. He'd finally got around to writing up his favorite case of the year and was fastidiously including every unforeseen side effect caused by the unusual drug combination they'd had to resort to.

Sam sat on the floor near his father simultaneously watching the TV and half-heartedly colouring his latest monster creation.

"Daddy?" he asked absently, "Dad?"

When there was no answer, he stood up and crossed the room pizza crumbs dropping from his clothes, "Dad?" he asked pulling at House's sleeve.

House turned, trying to surpress his surprise at the interruption. Hadn't it been bedtime ages ago?

"What's up buddy?" he asked, rising to stand, feeling the stiffness in his leg and realizing just how long he must have been working for. He took Sam's tiny hand in his own and limped off toward the bedrooms not letting himself think about the late hour.

"Can we read the book again?"

"Which book, man?" House asked, whilst he tugged at his son's clothes.

Sam wittered about some book he had apparently been looking at and House did his best to manipulate Sam's arms and legs into his pyjamas. The virtues of the spaceships depicted in the book were extolled excitedly and House took advantage of the diversion to push him gently into the bathroom.

"Go pee, brush teeth. I'll be here."

He listened out for the telltale sprinkling sound and the following turn of the tap. He was trying to instill some sense of independence in his son but he had to fight hard against the urge to make sure all those pearly-whites were cleaned well.

In seconds, Sam exited the bathroom with a shiny wet face and hands, his unruly hair sticking up at the front. House grabbed the towel from the rail and patted at his son's skin, knowing how he hated having damp skin for too long.

"There you go, all done. Let's go dude."

House patted Sam's back encouraging him to lead the way back to his bedroom. He waited as Sam climbed into his bed and House tucked him tightly in. Once the comforter and stuffed bears were in exactly the right order, he lay himself along his boy ready to read whichever book had inspired the kid.

"Come on then, let's see it."

"It's so cool Dad! Wait till you see the rockets and the boosters, totally awesome!"

House pulled his reading glasses from his shirt pocket and began to read the book on autopilot, Sam lost in his imagination. He reached the end, kissed his son on his perfect little nose and got ready to leave the room.

"Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Can we go bike riding again this weekend?"

"We talked about that right? I told you it might not work out? We can talk in the morning, time for you to sleep now little buddy. I love you kid." Another kiss to his cheek, and House turned for the door.

"I love you too Dad."

Simple words, but the best words he'd ever heard. He could hear them again and again, over and over.

House limped back along the hall and returned to his article, once more lost in the chronology of the case, the stats, the medicine. Sometimes, he thought that this just might be his favourite part of the job; when he could see the process all laid out in black ink, no patient in the way, no relatives, just the disease, just him.

HHHHHH

He woke with a start quickly realising he had fallen asleep over the computer. His glasses were skewed at an unnatural angle, and he had the imprint of the keyboard etched into his cheek. What a catch… he thought to himself. He wiped at his face, mustering the courage to drag himself through the bathroom and on to his own bed.

After brushing his teeth, peeing and washing his face, he stumbled cane-less into Sam's room. A quick peek to check he was still breathing, a hand through his hair and a kiss and House headed finally to his bedroom. He fell gladly into his bed, pulling the comforter up around him. Sleep claimed him in seconds; true, deep, restful sleep, dreamless and healing.

HHHHHH

"Daddy?" a whisper in the dark and House sprang bolt upright.

"Sam! What?" he stammered, disoriented, heart thumping.

"Daddy…" the boy climbed into bed next to House, warm and soft.

"Okay, okay let's sleep."

The two drifted off to sleep once more, heads turned toward one another both snoring softly, mouths agape.

HHHHHH

At around three, House's leg made its presence felt. He sat up in bed, rubbing at the place where the muscle used to be, unaware at first that Sam was still there. He swiped for his pills on the bedside table narrowly missing knocking his glass of water onto the floor.

Once the pain had dialed down a notch, he felt himself falling into the blissful arms of the night once again. Comfortable, warm, it was seconds before he was deeply asleep once again.

HHHHHH

"Daddy?" a whisper in the night, brushing the edges of House's consciousness.

He woke to Sam pulling at his t-shirt, hot breath in his ear.

"S'up?" he managed.

"Daddy, I need to pee."

"K man, just…" he waved in the general direction of the bathroom, arm flopping back onto the bed as he fell back to sleep.

"Daddy? Daddy!"

"Sam… what?" he rose from sleep once more, pulling himself up to sit. "What's the matter kid?"

"You gotta come with me. I think I hear something… I'm scared."

"Okay, okay, let's go. Just give me a second okay?"

House swung his leg over and sat on the edge of the bed. He figured his middle of the night dose would still hold but he already knew he was in for a bad day.

"Sam… I need my cane okay? Can you get it for me buddy?"

"Where is it Daddy?" he replied hesitantly, suspecting the cane was hanging in its usual resting place out in the hallway.

"I don't… I think…" but he couldn't think. He was too sleepy, and his leg was gnawing at him, bone-deep pain radiating out from the scar. "Okay, look, Sam, I'm just going to be right here okay? We can, we can turn on the light. The bathroom is right there okay? I need you to be brave buddy right? You can do that can't you buddy?" he was desperate now, there was no way the leg would hold.

"Okay daddy, I think I can do it."

"That's right, just channel your inner Luke Skywalker right?"

"Yeah! Like Luke Skywalker! Okay Daddy, I can do it!"

"Okay man, you go, I'm right here, just a few steps. That's it…"

House watched as Sam scampered the couple of metres into the bathroom switching on all the lights as he went and leaving the door open. He started to hum the Starwars theme tune and Sam joined in, bravery filling him as he peed.

In seconds, the boy was back, lights still ablaze stumbling careful over a freshly prone House.

"I'm back Daddy, I did it…"

House managed to pat his son's arm by way of a response, half snoring already.

HHHHHH

It was still dark outside when House's alarm snapped on, buzzing like a broken duck. He bolted upright, heart pounding, eyes darting round the room. Panting, he bashed the top of the alarm, silencing it quickly. Sam turned in his sleep, his arm hitting House as he turned.

He sat on the edge of the bed, ran a hand through his hair and took slow, deep breaths in an effort to calm his breathing, to quell the leg. After a few seconds, he braced himself to stand, not daring to lift his hand from the bed. He limped cautiously along the edge, darkness swimming into the corner of his vision. Yup, definitely a bad day.

He lurched form the bed's edge toward the chair leaning against the wall. He reached for it, still not managing to stand fully upright. From the chair, he could reach the wall and so he continued in search of his cane, keeping his shoulder braced against the wall as he went.

Out in the hallway, he found the cane dangling from its perch on the moulding. Grabbing it, he headed into the bathroom hastily, keen to avoid waking Sam, and keen as well, to begin his day with a fresh dose of Vicodin.

The Nanny arriving coincided with a sleep-tousled Sam finally emerging from his father's bedroom. House gulped the last of his coffee and stepped toward the boy as the Nanny let herself in.

"Hey kid, you want some breakfast? Cereal?"

"Hi Daddy" he managed in reply, rubbing at his eyes and nodding.

"Hi Daddy?" House repeated. "Hi Daddy..? Okay kiddo, come on." He patted his son on his tousled head, marveling at just how he managed to get it to stand on end every morning.

"Morning guys!" the nanny called, removing her coat, gloves and hat.

House nodded his hello, Sam smiled his big goofy smile, the one reserved for the special people in his little life and clung to his father's leg.

With a final slurp of his coffee, House checked his pocket for the familiar rattle of his pills and leant down to kiss his son.

"I'll see you later okay? Have a good day in school – don't forget if that big kid comes near you?"

"Yeah… kick him where it hurts. Okay Daddy, bye, I love you."

"I love you too Sam. See you later buddy."

With that, House limped out of their apartment, more slowly and carefully than usual. Ready to face whatever the day might bring, even if it would involve a few extra cups of coffee.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

House and Sam walked along the street, heading to the nearest coffee house for their weekly hot chocolate/newspaper reading time. Having parked in a near-by lot, House limped along with a long loping step while Sam alternated between running loops around him and scampering beside holding tightly to his father's hand. It was a cold morning, the threat of snow loomed once again on the horizon and House could feel the first few flakes of the day begin to fall, disappearing as they hit the slushy remains on the sidewalk.

"When can you do kissing?" Sam asked as he jumped over a particularly slushy puddle.

Unfazed, House responded deadpan, "When you're thirty-five." and continued to lope on.

"But Emily kissed me on the lips yesterday."

"'That's gross, kissing on the lips gives you germs."

"But grown-ups do it, I've seen it on the TV."

"Yeah, but you're a little kid, and little kids are full of germs."

"Well, it was pretty gross anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I don't like Emily, she's mean."

They reached the café and House held the door open for his son, gesturing an 'after you' as Sam ducked under his arm.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"Yeah." Sam answered, seemingly resigned to life under Emily's thumb.

"How so?"

"She keeps touching my cheeks and following me around."

"What can I tell you? Women are weird, little man."

With that, they stood in line while Sam gazed at the array of delicious pastries behind the glass. It was all he could do to not drool in anticipation, huge blue eyes widening in appreciation, lashes curled up almost against the glass.

"Yeah? Was mommy weird?"

"Yes, the weirdest of them all." House waved toward the cakes and gestured for Sam to take his pick. "Tall flat white for me, hot chocolate for the boy here and-"

"That one!" Sam pointed to a fairly tame looking brownie and House was pretty impressed by his restraint.

"-and the brownie, to stay." He ordered, doling out a fistful of dollar bills.

They waited a little longer for the barista to make up their drinks and plate Sam's brownie then House hooked his cane over his arm, grabbed the tray and lurched toward the nearest empty table.

Sam tucked into his brownie with fervent passion, and House relished the chance to sit for a minute in peace, hoping to be able to read at least the first page of the newspaper he'd brought from home.

He loved Saturdays; a bit of down time with the kid, their regular trip to the coffee house, Little League in the park, and then later pizza and a movie. He thought back to life before Sam and wondered what he had done with all his time. Vicodin, scotch and porn; that's what.

He watched as Sam made sure he hoovered up every last crumb, nothing went to waste. He couldn't stop staring at him; so perfect, but even he recognized him for the mini-me he was. He knew they made quite the pair; women often took a second glance whenever they left the apartment. Let them look, he thought, annoyed that the looks were never converted into actual dates, or better still, actual sex.

As Sam treasured the brownie, House flicked half-heartedly through the newspaper sipping at his coffee. Minutes ticked by, for once nobody rushing to get to work or to school and House thought, not for the first time, about how lucky he was. He'd have laughed in your face six years ago at the very idea of him enjoying life with a child, but here he was, a changed man. Ever since Sam had arrived on his doorstep, he'd loved him. He couldn't explain it; he _knew_ the boy was his kid, deep down inside, no proof required. Of course he'd tested him anyway, just to make sure…

He thought back to the early days when Sam had been a lost and confused pup in his arms as he tried to figure out what to do with this child. To lose her like that… he felt for the kid even though he knew he was too young to realize what had happened. And they'd all gathered around: his mother, Wilson, Cameron, Cuddy even. Cooing over the baby, laughing as House felt his life swirling away in a sea of diapers, formula, and stroller options.

It had taken a solid night's sleep after those early weeks of nightmare nights, of hours limping around the apartment in the small hours trying to get him to sleep, feeding him endless bottles of milk at exactly the right temperature to try to trigger the sleep instinct that babies were supposed to have. He had called his mother, almost at breaking point, the first time he had asked her for anything as an adult. She had dropped everything, not questioning for a second how House had happened upon a baby nor asking why he hadn't told her until now. She stayed for the weekend, got up with Sam through the night – for her baby. And so House had woken, rested, and when he'd limped into the living room feeling just ever so slightly like a human being once again, Sam had smiled at him; just that adorable gummy baby smile - his baby's smile. He was smitten from that exact point.

And it had all been worth it. Sam and House fell into some sort of routine despite House's chaotic lifestyle. He'd read the books, he called his mother and life got better, settled, _calm_. He watched again as Sam wiped his lips with the serviette, a happy smile on his face, washing the brownie down with a creamy hot chocolate, a milk moustache forming on his upper lip.

"You know what kid?"

"Huh, daddy?" he asked surprised at the interruption to his date with the brownie.

"I love you."

"Silly! I know that! Daad!" Sam looked around, delighted at his father's teasing, the expectation of it, safe and sure in the knowledge that his daddy loved him.

House reached across the table and ran his hand through his boy's hair. There'd be plenty of girls willing to kiss this kid… when he was thirty-five.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Small Fry**

House knew the rash wasn't anything serious. Given his specialism and his practice, he was almost the world's leading infectious disease specialist. But the school had its rules…

Sam had woken early that morning, scratching at his belly and when he'd been changing into his clothes, House had seen the spots instantly. Bright red spots breaking out across his son's stomach, chest and back. After a quick personal consult, House had decided they were nothing more sinister than an allergic reaction to something environmental – and he had certainly seen worse. He'd taken Sam's temperature, not even slightly elevated, made him breakfast, watched him eat it all as though he'd been starved for a week, and declared him perfectly fit and well for school.

He hadn't even been at work for longer than twenty minutes when his phone flashed up the school's caller ID. They'd seen the spots when Sam was changing for gym class and immediately quarantined him in the Principal's office, and could House come and get him immediately please? Did House know there were strict guidelines in the school handbook about infection and illness?

His professional opinion fell on deaf ears and against his better judgment he managed to refrain from too loud an utterance of 'idiot' just as he hung up.

So, here they were, riding the elevator up to the fourth floor of PPTH with a back-pack full of books, games and snacks designed to keep Sam entertained during his unscheduled day at work.

"I don't think Mrs Macintosh knows you're a real doctor Daddy. Not like Elliot's daddy, he's a doctor for computers not gross diseases."

"Yeah? Computers huh?" House hedged, keen to avoid the blood pressure rise he could feel bubbling through his circulatory system.

The elevator sounded its arrival and House and Sam stepped out into the hall. House nodded, grimacing at passersby knowing full well how cute the kid was in direct comparison to his reputation.

"Cute kid House – where'd you find him?" cooed Harrison from the next-door but one office.

House growled, grabbed Sam's hand and limped a little faster, hoping to arrive in his office with reputation intact. It had taken a long time to make this many enemies, one adorable little boy could well blow it all in a second… and this he knew from experience.

Pushing open the door, he stomped into his office firing a warning glance into the conference room and dropped Sam's backpack near the easy chair.

"Okay dude, here are the rules. I'm going to be pretty busy so you have to stay put okay? You've got a million games, snacks, everything you could possibly need so while I'm working through there, you can just hang out right?"

"Right Daddy but-"

"-and if I have to go see the patient, then you just have to stay put right?"

"-sure Daddy, but-"

"-And if … what's the matter?" House asked as he realized Sam had been trying to get his attention.

"I need to pee."

"Sure you do. Okay, let's go man."

House and Sam tottered out of the office and headed to the bathroom. At least three nurses turned their heads at the sight of the grouchiest of doctors hand in hand with the sweetest of kids. God, if he didn't love this kid though…

HHHHH

House was tapping away at his computer, looking up a chain of symptoms in a simultaneous chain of journals. Sam was playing happily with a fleet of toy cars, bashing them up against the feet of the easy chair, blowing twelve kinds of raspberry noises as they crashed.

Suddenly, the sound of three pagers going off at the same time as House's cell shattered the peace. House grabbed his cane and headed for the door stopping just briefly to pat his son on the back and remind him to stay put.

HHHHH

The team lumbered back to the ranch, shoulders slumped, defeated, each one individually running through the progression, trying to find the fault line. House limped on ahead, alone with his thoughts.

He sloped into his office wanting to switch on the TV, throw the ball against the wall for a half hour. He wanted to forget, just for a while, let his brain figure it all out, preferably without his input.

He staggered to his chair, stretched out his leg, blew out the breath he'd been holding since the code was called. He dropped his head back against the rest and closed his eyes.

Something underneath him meant he couldn't quite get comfortable.

Reaching beneath his but, he pulled out a mini car. Sam…

"Chase, Foreman, Cameron! Get in here!"

The trio came rushing in, shocked to be summoned this way.

"Sam! Where's Sam?!"

HHHHH

Sam munched at the pile of fries on his plate, the nurse was nice but Doctor Cuddy was better, she'd supplied the fries. He liked being out of school, it was much more fun to be in the hospital. Nice ladies kept taking him places and buying him treats. So far, he'd racked up some candy, a soda and the fries on the plate in front of him.

"So Sam, no school today huh?"

"Sam replied around a mouthful of the fries, "uh huh, Daddy had to come get me. I think he was mad."

"Why's that?" Cuddy asked, smiling at the thought of anything disturbing House's own peculiar style of focus.

"Mrs Macintosh said it was because of the spots but Daddy didn't think they were the bad kind. Mrs Macintosh is always right though so I guess Daddy isn't so great at being a doctor."

Cuddy nearly spat her coffee across the table. Out of the mouths of babes, she thought as she tried to stifle yet more laughter.

A crashing flurry of doctors at the entrance to the cafeteria made everyone turn their heads. Without question, Cuddy knew exactly who would be leading the charge.

"Sam! Man? What did I tell you?!" House boomed, voice faster than cane in this instance.

"It's okay Daddy, the nurse brought me here and Doctor Cuddy brought me some fries!"

"Sam… god, Sam… I was worried, I thought…" House checked himself, torn between the relief at finding his boy and the fear of seeming mortal in front of Cuddy and his team.

"It's okay House, it's been a while since Sam and I had a catch up." She stood, placing her hand on House's arm, "No problem, he's fine, he was just a little shaken when you all ran out."

House peeled into the booth next to Sam, staring at him, trying to slow his heartbeat. He genuinely thought he'd lost the kid, thought all his worst fears had come true. He didn't deserve this boy, he was bound to mess it all up sooner or later.

Sam beamed up at him, a smudge of chocolate on his cheek, "You want a fry Daddy? They're good?"

"They're good huh?" House replied.

"Sure are, Mrs Macintosh says fries are okay but not for everyday."

"Mrs Macintosh, huh?"

"Uh huh, but I guess today isn't every day right Daddy?"

"You got that right buddy." House smoothed the boy's hair and took a handful of the damned fries. He'd just about managed to get his heart under control, his breathing had returned to an acceptable rate and the kid was sitting next to him, perfectly safe, belly full of crap and utterly none the wiser. Damn Mrs Macintosh…


	5. Chapter 5

_**Gosh, thank you so much for all the lovely reviews – I'm so glad to be back, so glad to have written something you seem to be enjoying. So I suppose this is what's known as an AU, the show ended ages ago so I think I'm allowed to take the best bits and work them to my advantage (and to ignore the less great bits). Anyway, a little of Sam's backstory here – enjoy!**_

**Chapter 5**

**Stroller Options**

He would have stood by her, of course. Deep down inside, he'd never been that much of a bastard, he would have paid up. She had been the first woman he'd managed to sustain an interest in for countless years but still. It had been a whirlwind, over before it began, and he'd figured the conception must have occurred that second time; he could remember it in pretty spectacular detail, the haste, the _need_. And then he'd heard nothing from her; for months he'd wondered what he had done wrong, what she had expected him to change. Then he'd processed it, forgotten her, moved on – at least, that's what he'd told Wilson.

Out of the blue, the phone-call had come; she was on the table, the baby needed to be delivered, she wouldn't survive, it was an emergency, did they have permission? And he'd answered half professional half civilian, and wondered, what baby? Where?

He'd found himself on a plane to LAX, she'd gone there, chasing some dream, putting some distance between them and the chance it could have worked. On landing he'd taken a cab straight to Cedars-Sinai, followed the signage and found himself staring at her lifeless body, laid out in expectation of his arrival. There was nobody else who would have come. He was surprised by the changes in her, or the poorly remembered details he'd mistaken.

Then he'd been ushered out, shocked, led by the elbow toward the NICU. They'd handed him a gown, told him to wait. He'd sat, like a hollow space, wondering how life had brought him here, to a baby, his baby.

And then he had found himself sitting in a supremely uncomfortable chair meant for nursing mothers, a raw squalling infant placed in the crook of his arm. Tubes surrounded him, in his nose, from his tiny arms, a blue cap on his head, tiny diaper and a hospital issue blanket. The child was alone, no provision had been made for his unexpected and premature arrival.

House had guessed him to be two months under-cooked. Not a bad survival rate, no likely lasting damage; just the collapse of his mother's body.

But he had known, right there and then. This was his child.

At a loss, no idea where even to begin thinking about it, he'd checked into a hotel, called Cuddy and asked for some leave. For once she hadn't pushed him, probably because for the second time in his life, he'd been straight with her, no underlying scheme or plan. Then he went back to the hospital, nurses shoved leaflets into his hands, lists of things to buy for your newborn, books to read, advice heaped upon advice, a maelstrom of shopping options it was impossible to see through.

So he'd started at the top. He went to the store, swarmed by matronly ladies happy to take the cash he couldn't care less about spending. Onesies, diapers – all impossibly small; a car seat, stroller all chosen for ease, for his height, for the cane. Formula, bibs, pacifiers, bottles and teats, more onesies in a bigger size. He would grow, they told him. Before you know it, they said, curiosity almost killing them in their need to know. Then a huge order, shipped to his home address: a crib, blankets, sheets, an intense monitor part-designed by NASA, more onesies, hats, mits, snowsuits, formula. He'd gone in as he'd come out, numb, out of place.

He'd gone back to the hospital, stared at the baby through the NICU window. The baby slept, occasional myoclonic jerks, involuntary responses to whatever was going on in his tiny brain. And weeks had passed, he'd gone down there each day, dutiful, helpless and he'd held him, watched him. Discussions of the baby's development happened on a daily basis, for once House didn't throw his weight around, he'd listened, no zebras here, just a baby born too soon.

Eventually the day had come. He'd taken the car seat, a bag of supplies, a blanket and he'd dressed the baby, loaded him into the seat. He'd thanked the doctors, the nurses and he'd left with the baby, ready to face the first week of fulltime parenthood. A week at the hotel to be near the hospital, just in case; and then the flight home, a whole world of difficult he was unprepared for. He had the birth certificate, his own name in the space under 'father', he had the seat, he had the travel formula, he had the baby. Then there was the cane; they'd taken that, transformed the whole thing into a circus of golf buggies and escorts and special assistance, and House had burned with embarrassment and the baby had slept through it all.

The flight passed with the baby asleep, House staring straight ahead at the in-flight screen, and then the rigmarole had kicked in again upon landing, the golf buggy, the assistance and then Wilson.

He'd taken a deep, steadying breath, dropped his head and nodded tightly at Wilson.

"My car is in the lot."

"I know. Thought you might need a friend." Wilson had replied, actually the best possible outcome.

They'd loaded a cart with House's cases, loaded the baby into the stroller House had stowed and headed on out to the parking lot. House fumbled with seatbelt straps, the base unit and finally clipped the baby into place. Suddenly aware of the responsibility, he'd driven home, slower than he'd ever gone before, crawling all the way back to Princeton, to his apartment, no idea of the state he'd left it in two months prior. Wilson had followed, just as slow, just as awed by the child and by the idea of House as a father. He'd called Cuddy from the car, given her an update, reassured her that House was still in one piece, the baby was real and that actually, he seemed to be doing okay.

They'd unloaded the luggage into House's apartment, filing it with the baby equipment House had brought from LA, adding to the order that he'd placed back when the baby was born, all magically unpacked, assembled and placed in the most likely end-point; crib next to the bed, swing in the living room. Baby blue the new accent around the place, even a balloon from PPTH, a handful of cards congratulating House like he'd actually had some kind of say in the whole thing.

Then the baby had started to squirm and House knew he would need to be fed in the next few minutes. He'd rooted in the diaper bag, found the travel carton of formula he'd saved and a fresh bottle. Wilson had watched, amazed, for once speechless and completely out of his comfort zone. But House was okay, the child was still alive, they were home, ready to start their life back in Princeton.

All of this House remembered minute by minute, cursed and blessed in equal measure by his excellent memory.

He sipped at his beer, aged blues on the turntable, fire low in the grate ready to die down for the night. Sam slept in his bed, untroubled by his arrival in the world, the craziness that spiraled out around his tiny body in the incubator. House was calm in his reverie, the tumult of those early years behind them, Sam just about growing into his personality, and pretty good company, a pretty great kid. Samuel House: excellent kid.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N_

_This little story came very much out of the blue, I wasn't sure where it was going but very much enjoyed writing it and getting my writing mojo back after an academic interlude. Anyway, thank you all once again for the lovely reviews. This is the final chapter. Merry New Year to you and yours!_

**Chapter 6**

**2026**

House, Sam and Wilson waited for the bubbles to calm in their glasses before drinking a toast to the New Year. Sam pulled his father's hand to help him stand and the three raised their glasses in anticipation.

"Here's to 2026! A new era, college, solo dude in NYC!" Sam offered his toast, barely able to keep the joy from his voice.

"To 2026, happy New Year!" replied House and Wilson in tandem.

The group sat once again, standing was harder for House now and he was grateful for the seat as they waited for the others to join them. He watched his son as he sipped cautiously at the champagne, all six foot six of him. The freshly shaved cheeks, the cool haircut and the outfit he'd spent an hour choosing that last weekend. He was so proud of him. The kid was working hard in school, there had been the rough patch when he'd hit fifteen but they'd worked through it and the police hadn't wanted to go ahead with the conviction, thankfully. He was on the honour roll, heading toward NYU and a degree in Urban Design and Architecture, an individual mind distinct from his own.

"Dad?" Sam asked. House smiled, knowing full well he had tuned out for a moment, lost in his son and how well he had turned out despite his father.

"Sam?"

"I just asked what your resolution was?"

"No way, I'm not falling for that. No resolutions, none of that crap for me. That's Wilson's thing, ask him!"

They chatted through plans for the coming year, Sam was giving up his weekend job to concentrate on his SATs, Wilson wanted to visit Rome and House avoided discussing the surgery he had scheduled for the winter. They ordered starters once Sam's girlfriend arrived along with Wilson's wife and daughter, Taylor. Cuddy arrived not long after bringing a freshly employed Rachel along before she headed out with her friends, and then there she was, Stacy, stunning after all these years.

She leaned in to kiss House on the cheek after pecking Sam on the top of his head.

"Hey there, sorry I'm late." She whispered in his ear.

"No problem, glad they let you out."

She sat next to him, claimed her rightful place at his side. House couldn't help but feel content, secure in his friendships, in his family. It might have been the champagne but he suddenly found himself raising another toast before he could stop himself.

"To Sam Lightnin House, watch out New York, it's this boy's time."

"To Lightnin!" replied the assembled group.

"To Lightnin?" Rachel asked deeply puzzled as to why she had never known this juicy little fact.

Sam cringed, slumping deep into his seat, reminded of his awful pet name. Stacy rumpled his hair instantly ruining the style he'd had going on and removing the veneer of adulthood he'd just about managed to project. House thought back to the moment he'd named his son eighteen years ago to the day, lost in his memories, a sentimental old man.

Wilson had arrived, arms laden with bags of take-out and formula. House had almost settled into his new life and had passed a festivity free Christmas trying to work out the baby now he was home in Princeton. New Year's Eve had arrived and Wilson had forced House to acknowledge it with the promise of take-out, beer and a run of eighties movies.

"So, the baby is two months now, got a name picked out?" he asked before he'd even dished up the food.

"I was thinking of naming him after Lightnin' Hopkins actually."

"You can't!" Wilson replied, incredulous.

"Why not? 'T model Blues', 'Mr Charlie' – great tracks. I think he's a great musician. He's my kid besides, my sperm, my choice. End of." House said as he finished feeding his son.

"House, you can't name him Lightin'!"

"Who said anything about Lightnin'? I agree, that would be ridiculous. Do you have no faith in me at all?!" House asked, innocent face, glad his wind-up had worked so beautifully. He placed the baby against his chest and rubbed at his back waiting for the impressive burp he knew was imminent.

"But… you just said…"

"_Sam_ John Hopkins. Later known as Lightnin' Hopkins. Wilson, you gotta calm down, you're going to burst something." He replied, as he changed to winding position number two.

"So, wait. So Sam? Sam is what you're going with?"

"Yeah, a great name. Strong, friendly, no possible way it can be abused by mean kids in school. Sam House, has a formidable ring to it, don't you think?" House answered as he lifted the baby up under his tiny arms to try the name out, "Sam House. You like that name kid?" he sat the baby up on his lap, one hand on his belly and up under his chin, the other rubbing in circles on his back.

The baby wriggled in his arms, round little belly squirming under his stripy onesie and let out an enormous burp, something to be proud of.

"Atta boy Sam, atta boy." House placed him back in the bouncy seat next to the sofa and tucked a blanket snugly around him, knowing he would be out for the next few hours.

Wilson stared in awe, he was making this look so easy. He was on wife number two and still no closer. Damn House.

They ate, they talked, they drank until the murmur in the restaurant grew indicating the countdown about to begin. The tables around them began to stand, getting coats ready to go outside and watch the fireworks. House's table stayed seated, respectful of his reduced mobility, keen not to draw attention to it.

The countdown commenced and everybody readied themselves into position to see in the New Year. One full of hope, possibility and change.

Wilson and Beth kissed as Taylor rolled her eyes, stuck in the throws of teenage parent-horror. She tapped at her phone, desperate not to be left out of her friendship group. Rachel and Cuddy raised their own private toast, smiling, both beautiful. Sam and the latest girlfriend House had forgotten the name of giggled as they made out, taking advantage of the distracted company and House and Stacy surveyed all that was around them. This year was going to change a lot of things. Sam was leaving home, House was quitting his practice, ready to take an academic post, Stacy had been promoted to judge, and then there was the surgery, the elephant in the room, the outcome of which scared House more than anything he had ever faced.

They gazed at each other, smiles loaded with meaning. Stacy squeezed his hand as he swallowed his fear down. He was losing his boy, he was losing his leg. The first drunken bars of Auld Lang Syne started to ring out, the lyrics clear and sure. They clinked their glasses together, drank a sip and kissed in the year that lay ahead. Sure of each other, ready to face anything.

Deep inside, he knew it was all going to work out. As Stevie Wonder had once said, just as time knew to move on since the beginning, House knew that time waited for no man, whether he was ready or not.

He lifted his glass to Stacy, "To 2026, bring it on."


End file.
